


Normal Rules Don't Apply

by prepare4trouble



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Gen, Laryngitis, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-16
Updated: 2015-06-16
Packaged: 2018-04-04 14:54:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,517
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4141983
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prepare4trouble/pseuds/prepare4trouble
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On a sick day, normal rules don't apply.<br/>Kinkmeme prompt.  Foggy has laryngitis.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Normal Rules Don't Apply

**Author's Note:**

> Response to Kinkmeme prompt here  
> http://daredevilkink.dreamwidth.org/1742.html?thread=3439822#cmt3439822
> 
> Foggy, Laryngitis (Gen or Slashy)  
> He is a bit surprised when Matt decides to mother-hen him and play nursemaid because he assumes it must be rather boring for him to spend time with somebody who can't talk.  
> Matt might or might not be doing this to make absolutely sure Foggy follows all the doctor's order and gets better quickly because he misses his voice a lot.
> 
> I went with Gen because that's my default setting. I also ended up writing something much longer than I intended. Can you believe I was aiming for about 600 words?!

_2015_

"Hey Foggy. How's the cold? Any better?"

Matt frowned when the response was not words but an unintelligible croaking sound.

“I’m guessing that means not good?" Matt said. He could tell that Foggy was giving him the finger, but Karen was lurking in the doorway behind him so he didn’t mention it.

"He's got laryngitis," Karen said. "He's not allowed to speak, he's been communicating by writing notes all morning."

Foggy made another painful sounding whisper, then a frustrated sigh. Matt heard the sound of a pen writing on a notepad.

"He says he can't speak anyway, whether he's allowed to or not," Karen said.

"Uh, yeah. I got that, Foggy." Matt told him. "I know how laryngitis works. I thought you told me you were immune. You should stop making that horrible noise. In fact, you should go home. There's no need for you to be here today. Take a sick day."

No response.

"He's shaking his head," Karen said. "And he's rolling his eyes. I'm not sure why."

Foggy coughed. It was one of the most disgusting things Matt had ever heard, the sound of phlegm moving around inside his chest and windpipe, obstructing his breathing. Foggy's temperature was too high. Not dangerously so, but elevated enough that he was clearly sick, if that hadn’t been obvious from the other stuff.

More writing.

"He says you wouldn't take a sick day."

"Sure I would," Matt said. “You made me, if I remember rightly.”

More writing. It sounded like the pen was pressing harder into the paper. He hadn’t been talking about the last time Matt had been genuinely sick and not laid up on the couch suffering the after effects of a bad beating. Foggy wasn’t about to give him away in a note passed to him via Karen, not deliberately, but there was no point waiting around to see what roundabout way he would choose to show his irritation.

Matt shook his head. He strode across the room quickly, he swept a hand over the center of the desk and snatched the notepad away as soon as he located it. Foggy made another hissing phlegmy sound.

Matt ignored him. He placed the back of his hand against Foggy's brow. It was clammy, and definitely significantly higher than it should be. "Home," he said. "Now. We're in court next week, you need to be well and able to speak. If you look half as bad as you sound..."

"He does," Karen said. “Worse, actually. Hey, don't look at me like that, he knows you're sick. I told you to go home too, remember?"

"And there we go," Matt said. "You're officially out-voted. Get up."

Foggy sighed but didn't make any further attempt to speak. His chair scraped on the floor as he pulled it out from under his desk.

"That's right, keep moving," Matt told him. He turned to Karen. "I'm going to go with him, make sure he actually goes home. And that he doesn’t collapse on the way."

"Sure," Karen said, "but I feel I should probably warn you, the way he’s glaring, I think he might be planning to murder you."

Matt laughed. "Thanks for the warning, but I think I could probably fight him off in this state."

Karen shrugged. "If you say so, but _I_ wouldn't like to take him on, he's pretty good with a baseball bat, you know."

There was another painful sounding croak from Foggy's direction. It sounded vaguely irritated.

"And that's my cue to leave." Matt headed to the door. "C'mon buddy, let's get you home. Hey, do you have any honey and le... no, don't try to answer that, I don't think I could stand to hear that noise again. We need to go get some supplies on the way, okay? Rhetorical, by the way. Don't answer me."

***

_2011_

Matt turned over in bed and pulled the covers tighter around himself. He shouldn’t be cold. It was so late in spring that it was practically summer and although they had had a few chilly days recently, there had been nothing like the arctic blast he was currently experiencing on the other side of his bedsheets.

The window was closed. He could tell that easily by the air currents in the room. Over at the other side of the dorm room, Foggy was snoring quietly. The occasional sound of his skin or his sleepwear brushing against his cotton sheets added to the sound of his slumber. By the amount that he was moving in his sleep and the slightly elevated rate of his breathing and heart beat, he would be waking up soon.

Matt stuck a hand out from under the warm sheets to retrieve his watch that was waiting on the table by the bed next to his glasses, bottle of water and the earplugs that he thankfully hadn’t needed to use last night. He touched the display, almost eight AM. He groaned inwardly and started to think about getting out of bed.

Before he did, the alarm next to Foggy’s bed began to bleep loudly, shattering the peace of the room. Foggy groaned loudly as his fist found the button and pounded it repeatedly until silence resumed.

“Matt. Matt, buddy. Time to get up.”

Matt blinked. He was sure he had been on the way to class just a second ago. The dream faded away as soon as he realized that he was still in bed. He reached for his watch again and found it missing. His hand groped the bedside table, searching for it, but it was gone. He didn’t remember putting it back. Was it still in the bed with him? Had he dropped it on the floor.

“Can you see my watch anywhere?” he asked. Only, he didn’t, because instead of words his voice came out a whisper that even he would have been unable to decipher. His heart sank. He hadn’t been feeling too good the past few days, and the sore throat yesterday had been a worry, but he had really thought he might get away with it this time. Apparently not.

He sighed. It was fine. It happened about one in every three colds he got, his throat was just his weak point, it always had been. He was just grateful he didn’t have any practical assignments this week.

“What?” Foggy said. Matt could hear the confusion in his voice.

“Laryngitis,” he tried to say, pointing demonstratively at his throat.

“Oh, gotcha,” Foggy said. “Ha! That sucks.” The fact that he was grinning was irritatingly obvious. There was nothing funny about this.

Matt frowned. Foggy was dressed already. He inhaled carefully. Even through his stuffy nose, he could smell the shower gel. His clothing sounded different to his night wear. If it had been 8am when Foggy was still in bed and now he was up and dressed, that meant he was late.

“Time?” he whispered, tapping the space on his wrist that his watch should have occupied.

“Um… about quarter to nine,” Foggy told him.

Shit. Matt braced himself for the icy blast and pushed the covers aside. Lecture in fifteen minutes right at the other side of campus, and he was still in his pajamas.

“Don’t bother,” Foggy told him. “You’ll never make it. Hell, I’ll never make it and I’m already dressed. You’re obviously sick, take a day off.”

Matt shook his head and continued to get up. When he could speak again, he was going to have to have a discussion with Foggy about letting him sleep so late when he knew full well that he had class because they both had the same class.

“Sick day!” Foggy said. The glee in his voice was obvious. “I might join you. Professor Wu pretty much just reads the text book anyway, might as well read it ourselves.”

Matt ignored him and started getting changed into the outfit he had left on his desk chair the night before. A shower would have to wait until he got back.

“Dude,” Foggy said. “You’re sick. Normal rules don’t apply. You have a license to stay in bed all day and watch TV, and as you know, TV sucks without me there to narrate, that gives me the same license. Don’t ruin it by going to class.”

Matt thought about it. Professor Wu did just read the textbook, and he had already read it himself. And yes it was only a cold, with the added irritation of the loss of his voice, but he did feel pretty terrible and his bed was so warm… He gave up and climbed back between the sheets. Foggy was a bad influence.

He heard Foggy lay back on his own bed and switch on his laptop. Suddenly he realized why he hadn’t woken him. This had been his plan all along.

“So, what do you want to watch?”

Matt allowed him a few seconds of silence while he realized the futility of the question.

“Oh, right. Sorry. That must be annoying, huh? You’re lucky I’m such an nice guy, I could have a lot of fun with this, you know. Lets make it easier, two options. I’m in a Disney mood, so raise your left hand for Toy Story 3, right hand for Tangled.”

***

_2015_

The taxi pulled up outside the convenience store a block from Foggy’s apartment and Matt paid the fare. He would have been perfectly fine to walk, he wasn’t that sick, but Matt had somehow managed to bundle him into he car before he even noticed what was happening. Which was weird, because he had no idea how that had happened. He shivered in the chill air and pulled his coat a little tighter around him. It shouldn’t be cold today. He wondered whether he was sicker than he had realized.

“Honey,” Matt said. “The liquid kind, not the set stuff. And a lemon. And a can of soup, chicken is best, but tomato if not. Actually, get two.”

Foggy bit his lip. There was no point trying to complain about being forced to go shopping when he was sick, partly because he had just insisted that he wasn’t that sick, but mostly because he knew that any attempt to speak would fail and Matt would tell him off again. Also, although he wouldn’t have admitted it even if he could, it was nice that despite everything Matt could apparently do, there were still times that he needed Foggy’s help.

He grabbed the list of items quickly and Matt paid cash, grabbed the bag and escorted Foggy the rest of the way home on foot.

Foggy’s voice made a squeaking sound as he opened the door to his apartment. He scowled, cleared his throat and tried again. It still didn’t work. He was sure it was getting worse.

“It’s getting worse,” Matt told him.

Great. Could Matt read his mind too? Although, creepy as that would be, right now it would be pretty useful. He thought as hard as he could in his general vicinity, ‘Go home,’

“It’s because you keep trying to talk,” Matt said, completely disregarding the thoughts Foggy had thrown at him. “You need to stop it or it’ll take longer to get better.” He walked past him into the apartment.

Foggy sighed. He closed the door behind them.

“Sit down before you fall down,” Matt told him. He indicated the couch with a wave of his hand and walked through into the kitchen. Foggy collapsed onto the couch. He heard the sound of the kettle being filled and drawers being opened as Matt searched for something.

“You should really organize your kitchen better,” Matt’s voice drifted through. “You never know when a blind guy might go searching through it. I thought you knew better than to throw a sharp knife in a drawer like that.”

Ah crap. He did know better than that. He had almost sliced his own finger just the other day and decided to find somewhere else to keep the knife. In his defense, he hadn’t known Matt would be rooting through the junk drawer the next day. Hopefully, his fingers were still intact.

He didn’t bother apologizing. Nobody would be able to hear it anyway.

“I’ve put it in the knife rack if you’re looking for it later,” Matt added.

Knife rack? Did he even have one? He shrugged. He would find it when he needed it. His eyes were fighting to close, he gave in and allowed it to happen.

***

_2011_

“I think you made the right choice,” Foggy said as the credits rolled. “I mean, I love Toy Story, who doesn’t? But I usually cry at the end of the third one, you don’t want to have to listen to that. Or rather, I don’t want you to. It’s a bit embarrassing.”

He closed the laptop and glanced over at Matt. He was laying on his bed with his eyes closed, glasses clutched in one hand by his side as though he had taken them off to keep them from getting crushed if he fell asleep and hadn’t had the energy to reach the table to put them down.

“Hey, Matt, you’d better not be asleep buddy. If you are you missed the most epic commentary I’ve ever done. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to recreate the awesomeness of that one, I was in the zone!”

Matt didn’t open his eyes, but his lips twitched into a small smile and he gave Foggy a thumbs up.

“Well, good.” Foggy said. “So, what did you think? To the movie, not the commentary. Actually, to both.”

Matt sat up slowly and as though he suddenly noticed the glasses in his hand, put them back on. He pointed to his throat and shook his head.

“Damn. I’m going to keep doing that, aren’t I? How long does this thing usually last? Aaagh! I did it again.”

Matt laughed and shook his head. He shrugged and held up two fingers, then added a third.

“Two or three what? _Days?_ Seriously?”

Matt considered it, then added a forth finger, waggling it around as though to demonstrate its transience.”

“Oh, man. Sucks to be you. I don’t get laryngitis; I think I’m immune.”

Matt shrugged and got off his bed, walked to his desk and opened his laptop. He hit a few keys then started to type, stopped, and hit another series of keys. Foggy watched. 

“It will be almost gone by then,” the computer said.

Foggy grinned. “I forgot your computer could talk. Excellent. So, you can choose the next movie.”

Matt shook his head and touched the stack of books piled on his desk next to the laptop.

“No way!” Foggy said. “Sick day, remember? Choose a movie.”

***

_2015_

The sound of something being placed on the coffee table next to him surprised him and he looked up.

"Sorry, didn't mean to wake you," Matt said. "Just bringing your drink."

He hadn't been asleep. Had he? Maybe he had. Matt could probably tell somehow, using his freakish hearing or something. He reached for the mug. It was steaming slightly. The liquid inside was an unappetizing yellow color and there was a slice of lemon floating in it. Definitely not his usual coffee with two spoonfuls of sugar. He took a careful sip and screwed up his face in disgust.

"What do you think? Oh, no. Don’t answer that." Matt sat down on the armchair at the other side of the table and put his own cup down. It looked like he had made himself the same concoction.

The honey tasted strange; he felt as though he could taste it inside his nose, and although it did eliminate the sourness of the lemon, it just didn’t taste good.

“You know, you can buy actual medicine with drugs in it now,” he said. Only he didn’t say it. What came out was the same collection of squeaks and rasps that he had been making all day. Was there anything more annoying than being deprived of your only method of communication? Literally his only one, as Matt couldn’t even see the notes he had been passing to Karen, or the frustrated glares he was treating his best friend to instead. He should have asked Matt to bring his computer. No, he should have written a note to Karen asking her to ask Matt to bring his computer. Which he might have done, if Matt hadn’t confiscated his notepad before he sent him home. 

Matt winced, but the amusement was too damn obvious in the grin on his face and the barely suppressed laugh in his voice. “You’ve gotta stop trying to talk, buddy. If you put any more strain on those vocal chords, you’ll still be like this next week.”

Foggy contorted his features into an expression of pure frustration. He had never laughed at Matt when he got this. Never. Well, maybe a little bit, but in his defense he hadn't realized quite how much it sucked. He took another sip of the disgusting lemon drink and winced again. 

“My dad used to put whiskey in it,” Matt said. “Just a shot, but it packed a powerful punch. If you want, I could…”

Foggy raised the mug in the air and tapped on it with the nail of his forefinger.

Matt smiled. “Where do you keep it? No, don’t answer. Might be easier if you got it yourself, you don’t want to have to try to explain where to find it.”

Exhaustedly, Foggy got to his feet and walked across to the cabinet where he kept all his drinks, the location of which Matt knew perfectly well, by the way. He poured what was probably quite a bit more than a standard shot into his mug, then dumped about the same amount into Matt’s.

Matt raised his mug in thanks. Foggy tapped it with his own and then swigged back a drag of the concoction. The alcohol improved the flavor slightly. It was still disgusting.

“Okay,” Matt said. “As much as it’s nice to get a bit of quiet once in a while, I need the occasional response. The simple things work best. One tap for yes, two for no, okay?”

Foggy frowned. Matt was waiting for a response. He bunched his fingers into a fist and knocked once on the coffee table. He briefly considered knocking a second time. Matt was right, it was simple, and that meant there wasn’t a lot it would communicate effectively, but it was this or sit in silence, so he dropped his hand silently to his side instead.

“Do you like the drink?” Matt asked.

No. Though the addition of the whiskey made it tolerable. He didn’t want to offend Matt. He tapped once for yes.

Matt frowned. “Remember the heartbeat thing?”

Lie detector. Damnit, How could he have forgotten that? That made things a little less fair. Foggy gave Matt the finger across the room, and stuck out his tongue for extra effect.

“Don’t do that, Foggy,” Matt told him. “Whatever it is.”

Foggy dropped his hands to his sides and pulled his tongue back into his mouth. He sighed.

“Sucks, right? Not being able to talk.”

Foggy nodded. He didn’t know whether Matt would be able to sense the motion, but he wasn’t able to tell him what he was doing, so it didn’t exactly matter. He exhaled through pursed lips in a hissing sound.

“The worst time I got it was back when I was a kid, before my dad died, but after the accident. I hadn’t even learned Braille properly and kids TV didn’t exactly cater to the vision impaired, so I was pretty much stuck with nothing to do but sit there in silence feeling sorry for myself. It lasted a week.”

Foggy winced at the idea. Matt didn’t talk about that period of his life often, and with good reason; between the ages of nine and maybe eleven, the conversation tended to get pretty dark. Usually it fell to Foggy to lighten it with some quip or completely irreverent something. This time that wouldn't be able to happen.

“My dad read to me though,” Matt added. “Mostly stories from the newspaper, but a few of my favorite books, the ones I couldn’t read anymore. It was awful at the time but I suppose looking back it wasn’t so bad, really.”

Foggy relaxed, Matt had managed to divert the mood on his own. He just wished he could say something. The sharing of a memory like that deserved more than silence as a response.

Matt sighed quietly. “Want some food?” he asked.

Foggy tapped twice for no. Matt shook his head. “Come on, you’ve gotta keep your strength up when you’re fighting an infection. That’s why I bought the chicken soup. It’s Murdock cure-all no. 2. No. 1 is the hot toddy, if you’re wondering.”

Foggy tapped his cup with his nail again. Somehow, despite the flavor, he had managed to drain the contents completely.

“You want more of the drink that you don’t like?” Matt asked. “Seriously?”

Foggy tapped yes on the side of the mug. He wondered idly whether Matt understood Morse code. He didn’t know it himself, but if Matt did, he could look it up online and then tap out messages.

His phone vibrated in his pocket and he pulled it out to see a message from Karen. “Hope you feel better. Nothing happening here. Don’t get Matt sick.”

Foggy grinned. He ignored the message from Karen for the time being and instead replied to a text from Matt two days earlier.

Matt’s phone pinged in his pocket. He pulled it out and pressed a button. _“New message from Foggy. Your lemon thing is gross but the booze helps,”_ it said in a level tone.

Matt grinned. “Why didn’t I think of that?” he said.

Foggy typed again. It was slower than a normal conversation, but better than nothing. Matt’s phone pinged again. _“New message from Foggy. Because I’m the genius in this partnership,”_ it said. It got the inflection wrong, but it would do.

“Good point,” Matt said. “So, another hot toddy? It’s probably a bit early for more whiskey.”

Foggy tapped twice on the table. No.

“You know the alcohol part of the drink is just there to make you sleepy, don’t you? The honey and lemon are actually good for you.”

Foggy coughed, phlegm moved around in his chest and Matt winced in a combination of sympathy and disgust. “You’re trying to say that normal rules don’t apply on a sick day, aren’t you?”

His phone beeped.

_“New message from Foggy. You know me so well.”_

Matt sighed. “Okay, how’s this, you eat something and I’ll let you have another hot toddy. Deal?”

Foggy inflated his cheeks and exhaled slowly. He tapped once on the table.

***

_2011_

“I’m hungry, are you hungry?” Foggy asked.

Matt had given in to the urge to study and was working on an essay that wasn’t due in for another two weeks. He sighed and paused his typing, then started again.

_“A little,”_ the computer said. _“I’m typing this in the middle of my essay. If I forget to remove it I’m in trouble.”_

“You’re terrible at taking a sick day, you know,” Foggy told him. “You just can’t do the wallowing in self pity thing, can you? You should really work on that.”

Matt shrugged, uninterested.

“So, food. I’ll give you a half hour more essay writing time, then I’ll be back with lunch. I’ll pick, you get to choose the movie to accompany it, because you’re better at that than me and I think we can all agree I’m better at picking food.”

Matt didn’t say anything. Not surprisingly.

“Doesn’t even have to be a movie. TV show, whatever. Just a break from studying. This is the worst sick day ever. Deal?”

Matt thought about it, then nodded.

“Thirty minutes,” Foggy said. “I’m timing it.”

***

_2015_

Foggy couldn’t work out why Matt was still there. It wasn’t that he didn’t appreciate being looked after, it was kind of nice to have someone bring you soup, but it couldn’t be a whole lot of fun for him to hang out with a guy who couldn’t even talk to him. 

The soup had been good though. He wasn’t convinced it was the cure-all that Matt had implied, because his voice still wasn’t working, but it had definitely made him feel a bit better. But then, food always did. It was nice to have someone look after him, he just felt a bit bad that there wasn’t anything he could do in return. He wiped down the last of the soup stuck to the edge of the bowl with a piece of bread and popped it into his mouth, then licked his lips. He definitely felt better.

“Good?” Matt asked.

Foggy tapped once and Matt grinned.

“Told you.”

He reached for his phone.

_“New message from Foggy. Still can’t talk.”_

“I said it would help, not that it’s a magic potion. You can’t expect miracles from an eighty cent can of chicken soup.”

Foggy laughed. It didn’t sound anything like any laugh he had ever heard before, but Matt’s grin told him he had interpreted it correctly.

“You should get some sleep,” Matt told him.

Foggy shook his head. He picked up his dish and left it in the kitchen sink then sat back down on the couch.

_“New message from Foggy. Magic soup helped. Feeling better.”_

“Still,” Matt told him. “I was right about the food. You should trust me, I’m a bit of an expert at this.”

_“New message from Foggy. Take your own advice some time.”_

Matt smiled tightly. “I will. I told you I get this from about one in three colds, didn’t I? Well, I noticed my throat tickling this morning, it was a sore throat by the time we were on our way here, my nose is feeling stuffy and I’ve somehow gotten away with it the last four colds, so I’m due a bad one. I’d say there’s a good chance that by tomorrow morning I’m going to sound about as bad as you, if not worse.”

Oh no. He was going to be in trouble now.

“Why do you think I want you well? Like I said, court next week.” He cleared his throat. “At least one of us needs to be able to speak.”

Foggy opened his mouth to reply, realized before he attempted to say anything that it was futile, and reached for his phone.

“What?” Matt asked, sensing Foggy’s desire to say something.

_“New message from Foggy. Karen told me not to get you sick.”_

Matt shrugged. “Don’t worry. Her temperature was half a degree up this morning too. I think she’ll be too busy being mad at you for her cold to worry about mine.”

Foggy slumped on the couch. He had a feeling that the next few days were not going to be fun for him.


End file.
